A number of his acquaintances in the city had been interviewed.  They had known Mr. Mayo for years, but only in the way of business and knew nothing of his family; one or two had heard him mention a sister and a niece.

The servants in his Cathedral Parkway apartment had been found and questioned.  The cook had been with Mr. Mayo two years.  He was “an easy-going gentleman, good pay, and no interferer.”  The year before, she said, he had gone to Virginia, summoned by a telegram announcing his sister’s death, and had brought back his orphan niece, Anne Lewis.  The cook had never seen nor heard of any other member of his family.

The police officer suggested that the child should be put in an institution for the care of destitute children.  He gave information as to the steps necessary in such a case and professed his willingness to give any further help desired.

Miss Drayton and Mrs. Patterson read and reread the letter.

“Well?” asked Miss Drayton.

“We’ll not send her to an asylum, you know,” said Mrs. Patterson, decidedly.  “Unless her own people claim her, we will keep her.  Anne shall be my little daughter.”

So it was settled, and the family party went on to Paris.  The great physician made a careful examination of Mrs. Patterson.  He, too, was unwilling to express an opinion about her condition.  He would prefer, he said, to have madame under treatment awhile at his private hospital, a quiet place in the suburbs.

It was promptly decided to accept Dr. La Farge’s suggestion.  Mrs. Patterson’s health being the object of their journey, there was no reason why they should winter in Nantes if in Paris she could secure more helpful treatment.  It was resolved, therefore, to send Pat and Anne to boarding-schools while Mrs. Patterson and Miss Drayton put themselves under the doctor’s orders.

“Oh!  Aren’t we going to Nantes?” asked Anne, when Miss Drayton informed her of the changed plans.

“No, Anne.  I’ve just told you, we are all going to stay in or near Paris.”

“Not going there at all? ever?” the child persisted.

“I don’t know; probably not.”  Miss Drayton was worried and this made her tone crisp and impatient.

“O—­oh!” wailed Anne, her self-control giving way before the sudden disappointment.  “I want to go.  I want to go to Nantes.”

Miss Drayton was amazed.  What ailed the child?  Why this passionate desire to go to Nantes, a city of which, as she owned, she had never even heard until she was told that it was their destination?

“Anne, Anne!  For pity’s sake!” said Miss Drayton.  “Why are you so anxious to go to Nantes?”

But Anne only rocked back and forth, sobbing, “I want to go to Nantes!  I want to go to Nantes!”

She had been counting the days till, according to her uncle’s permission, she might tell her friends about seeing him.  She felt sure they would explain the puzzling change in his appearance, and tell when she would see him again.  Now, after all, they were not going to Nantes, and she must keep her secret alone, forever and forever.  It was too dreadful!